written by Pamela Walker; photos by Arwen Adams
Amsterdam, Holland, is known for canal rides, a famous red light
district, hash bars, tulips and art museums.
However, as a woman who uses a wheelchair, I first become attracted to
the idea of visiting Amsterdam when I heard about the abundance of bicycle paths
throughout the city; a bicycle-friendly city meant that getting around town in a
wheelchair would likely be an easy feat. Friends
who had been to Amsterdam had told me that it was the only city they’d known
to be more liberal than Berkeley, California.
That cinched it, I had to go!
Fifteen years ago I made up my mind to visit Amsterdam and eventually I obtained my
first passport in 1986. Other than
coming in handy as ID, I had never used the little blue book and it was about to
expire.
I realized that it was time to confront my fear of flying over the ocean,
time to realize the dream that had been waiting for a decade and a half.
1996 seemed like a good year to realize that dream.
My traveling companion, Arwen Adams, and I decided to take advantage of a
package deal to encourage tourists to travel to Holland in the winter.
For less money than plane tickets would have cost during the summer, we
were able to purchase round-trip tickets and three nights lodging at a first
class hotel. (Breakfast was
included, but later I found out that this was customary with most hotel stays
there, regardless of a package deal.)
Although it seemed like a long way to go for such a short stay, I decided
to think of it as an exploratory trip to check things out for a possible longer
stay in the future. It had been
nearly impossible, though I’d tried several sources, to get solid information
in advance; the information I was able to get was fairly general and could not
provide data specific to my unique disability-related needs.
Three factors that made it difficult to get accurate information without
actually being in the situation were: (1)
language difficulties in general, even though English was spoken by most people;
(2) language difficulties in specific, sometimes without my realization
(for example: I could not clarify whether the shuttle van from the airport
had a "lift" or whether they were willing to "lift" me and
my chair into the van, especially since the term “lift”
means elevator in Europe.);
and (3) the overall attitude of willingness to make it work would confuse the
actual issue (for example: If they
assured you that they’d get you there, you did not know if that meant they had
wheelchair access or that they meant they’d do whatever it took to get you
there).
I needed to find out what problems I would encounter so that I could be
better prepared for those problems on a longer return trip. I also needed to find out how physically difficult it would
be on me before I committed myself to an exhaustive, lengthy visit.
Now that the trip is finished, I realize how wise it was to take a short
trip first; although I researched and prepared for the trip well in advance,
nothing gives the type of information that I gained by going in person.
I highly recommend this approach, if possible, to any severely disabled
person traveling outside the country. Off-season
package deals are often available, allowing for a reduced-rate
“recognizance” trip in advance to a longer trip.
In addition to providing first hand knowledge of the lay of the land, it
can also give one an opportunity to meet people in the country of visit and
perhaps set-up avenues for cheap lodging arrangements on the return trip.
The flight to Amsterdam took 9 1/2 hours, a
non-stop flight from San Francisco on KLM, the Dutch airlines. I was a bit anxious about flying with an unfamiliar airline,
especially regarding transport for my power wheelchair; KLM and Northwest
Airlines work together to provide flights between the United States and Holland,
but I had never traveled with either one and I didn’t know of any other
wheelchair users who had either. This
warned me that they might not be familiar with wheelchair travelers.
Check-in was the usual anxiety producing (ohmmmm....) experience that is
familiar to any plane traveler who needs boarding assistance.
I had to assertively let the airport personnel know that the wet-cell
batteries were well contained within their battery box and that the cells
themselves had a lid seal. (I had
forgot to put packaging tape around the lid to the battery box, but was able to
suggest it and supervise their doing it before they got any ideas about opening
the lid to disconnect all the wiring.) One
supervisory-type person tried to insist that ALL outside plugs had to be
disconnected so that the “electricity wouldn’t leak”; I politely informed
her that I had flown several times and pointed to the only two cables that
needed pulled apart. I showed them
that the clutches were off and told them that it was ready to board.
As they wheeled it away I crossed my figures that they wouldn’t do
anything more to it before they put it on the plane.
(I once had a chair returned to me with EVERY possible connecting wire
disconnected.)
Boarding the plane was a breeze. The
KLM staff was very positive and they listened well as I directed them on the
best way to lift me. I was very
impressed. They even stored my
manual chair on the plane near me. (I
took a manual chair along as a back up in case of problems with my power chair.)
The flight was very enjoyable. There
were three great movies, fairly comfortable seats and wonderful food.
(KLM provides several dietary choices such as “vegetarian” and
“strict vegetarian.”) I
especially enjoyed the hot towels brought around periodically to help deter the
drying effects of the air. My only
complaint would be that it was chilly, but I understand that that can’t really
be helped at that altitude. The
thin airplane blankets don’t completely solve the heat problem; I was much
better prepared on the return trip, with leg warmers and a sheepskin to wrap my
legs.
I had asked for, and had been assigned bulkhead seats.
The bathroom was only a few yards from my seat.
Since there was no aisle chair on board, however, I didn’t use the
bathroom on the way over. Even an aisle chair wouldn’t have fit through the door.
However, in an emergency, I could have used my own chair to get to the
door and Arwen would have assisted me with a pivot transfer.
When flying long distances, I usually assume I won’t be using the
bathroom; I push fluids three days prior to the trip and then stop drinking
anything about five hours before boarding, only sipping enough water to wet my
mouth during the flight. I’m sure
this makes health fanatics and medical people cringe, but it’s better than
landing at my destination with a dislocated shoulder because of the body
contortions involved in getting lifted into one of those baby bathrooms.
(This was the longest time I’d ever tried this method and, with the
usual drying effects of flying, my body suffered with dehydration; on the return
trip Arwen and one of the flight attendants assisted me to the bathroom so I
could drink. It was much better on
my body, but I’m sure glad no one videotaped the comical ordeal of three
people maneuvering through one tiny door.)
The landing was the smoothest I have ever experienced in forty years of
flying! And the crew was just as
respectful and efficient in transferring me off the plane as they had been in
getting me on it. However, my power
chair was returned to me broken. Fortunately,
the main damage preventing the chair from functioning at the time was minor --
an armrest that needed bent and pounded back into shape in order to fit back on
the chair. (It was later that I
discovered that the battery charger had also been dropped, meaning that I could
not get the chair to charge during the four-day stay.)
The return trip I was not so lucky, my chair was delivered to me in
customs in San Francisco on a flat dolly; the frame was so damaged that the
battery box could not be attached. I
can only deduce that it was not strapped down and banged around in the baggage
compartment for the whole trip. KLM
did repair the chair ($2,000) and luckily it was my back-up chair, so I wasn’t
as inconvenienced as I may have otherwise been.
They also gave me a $600 flight gift certificate and several little gifts
to compensate me for my inconvenience. My
overall opinion of KLM is that the people and their attitudes are commendable,
but the system for handling wheelchairs is severely lacking.
The plane lands at Schipol Airport, which is 20 minutes from Amsterdam by
train, the main method used by travelers. I
was excited by the idea of a train ride, but could get no definite information
in advance as to whether or not I would be able to get on the train.
The only “been there” information I could get was from several years
ago -- a magazine article by a man who used a manual chair and had had to slightly fold it to get it
passed a pole in the doorway. My
power chair would not fold, but another magazine article told me that
renovations had been made in recent years, but didn’t specify what those
renovations involved.
The best up-to-date information I could get was through calling the
station directly; a friendly voice assured me that all I had to do was to go to
the train station (below the airport), buy my ticket and tell them I needed to
get on the train with a wheelchair. The
communication difficulties I mentioned above prevented me from getting any
clearer information. This left a
lot of room for anything to happen, but I’m adventurous. So, I flew there with the faith that it would work out,
somehow.
I can now report, with first hand knowledge that it does work!
I purchased my $2.00 ticket and told the person behind the counter that I
needed to get my wheelchair onto the train.
She directed me to the elevator and assured me that her “colleague”
would meet me on the platform. She
also said she’d call ahead to the Amsterdam station to be sure they knew to
expect me. Still not knowing what to expect on the platform, I waited to
be met. I was a bit leery about her
instructing me to wait there, even if a train came and went, until her colleague
met me.
But, it didn’t take long before a man approached us pulling a flat
dolly-like contraption with folds of metal enveloped on top. He greeted us and explained that this was a portable ramp and
that the Amsterdam station had already been notified to take theirs to the
platform. When the train pulled in,
he manually unfolded a three-part ramp that created a long, slightly steep
incline into the train.
The spot that I landed at when I went up the ramp was a space between
cars, sort of a very small “lobby.” The
bathroom was there also. It was a
bit of a maneuvering trick to get into a spot in the small quarters so that I
would be out of the doorway. In
this cubby, barely larger than a handicapped bathroom stall, was a bench (where
a passenger sat), Arwen and me. The
space was also complicated by the fact that three doors were constantly in use
in this area: the bathroom door, and the two doors to the cars we were sandwiched between.
A bit snug, a bit awkward, but IT WORKED!
And, there was no problem with getting greeted at the platform in
Amsterdam.
However, delays could have happened, so be warned.
In my experience, it just so happened that the assistants at both
stations were readily available when they were paged. However, had they been on break or lunch, we may have had to
wait up to an hour. Also, be sure
they call ahead to your destination or you may arrive with no way to get off.
It does no good to try to set this all up before you get there, because
they won’t page the attendant until you request it in person.
One other thing I should note: don’t
try to call the train station on weekends; you’ll only get a recorded message.
We got off the train, took the elevator to the street level and walked
out of the station into our first sight of Amsterdam.
I fell in love immediately. The
scents, the sights, the sounds...it was so new, so refreshing, so quaint, so
humane. Of course, I came expecting
all this, but I wasn’t disappointed. It
was also SO cold!
We had made reservations at a hotel near the train station, so we didn’t have to deal with local transportation. We aimed for our hotel, the Golden Tulip Barbizon Palace, that we could see in the distance, as I awkwardly negotiated foreign street signals and signs. (Until this moment, I had never realized that the Beatles were actually crossing in the walk lane on the album cover...oh, so those stripes weren’t just artistic designs?!) I was quite disoriented crossing streets at first, but Arwen had been to Europe before and didn’t look quite the tourist that I did (luckily she pulled me from the path of the on-coming car in time).
There are important things to know about getting around on foot or on wheelchair in Amsterdam. It takes awhile to orient to the signs and street symbols if one has never seen them before. One is competing with bicycles, trains, buses, cars and fast-walking pedestrians. Drivers dash though narrow streets very boldly and are indifferent to wheelchairs. There is an abundance of brickwork instead of cement, but I found it easier to negotiate than many of the cracked sidewalks in Berkeley. Even though there are many paths for bicycles (and thus wheelchairs), many of those routes have curb lips of from 1 to 3 inches. (I only had to travel in the street one time because of not being able to get on the sidewalk at the curb.) It can get quite crowed in some areas, especially at tourist spots, making negotiation quite difficult from a low vantage point. And, lastly, there are many bridges that cross the canals; some of those bridges are quite steep and could be impossible for some manual wheelchair users to cross on their own.
All that said, I will add a bit of optimism here, and that
is that it is possible to cover a lot of ground easily in a day. Many of
the sites that one might typically want to see are within easy street traveling
distance of each other, making it unnecessary to try to work out
ground-transportation issues. Dam Square is a main spot in Amsterdam and
it is near the railroad's Central Station; most businesses and attractions
radiate out from there. Since our hotel was in this area, we found that we
were able to go everywhere we wanted (museums, flea markets, hot spots) without
having to use the bus or call for a cab or van.
They messed up our hotel reservations and had given away the only wheelchair accessible room at the inn. However, they did have another room with a large bathroom, if that would help. I decided to put up with some minor accessibility problems during our stay, because they gave us the Royal Suite instead! No additional cost! We were on the top floor, with one long wall of windows overlooking the canal. It was luxury plus! The toilet was too low, but with Arwen’s help, I managed. I decided that the view was worth the temporary loss of self-sufficiency.
It was advantageous, especially during problem solving or in asking about
disability access, that nearly everyone spoke fluent English. Ironically, the only time I felt frustrated about not being
able to communicate with someone was when I called a Disabled Services office.
In several places I had come across this phone number as a place where
disabled travelers could get assistance; the person who answered the phone was
not able to speak English very well and could give me no information about
accessible canal rides or local transportation, except for phone numbers which
turned out to be useless.
I found that pre-trip inquiries and on-sight inquiries were like putting
together pieces of a puzzle or clues of a detective novel. Usually no one knew the specific information that I
requested, but could tell me part of an answer and/or further places to check.
Finding an accessible canal ride went through a magazine article, my
travel agent, the US Holland Tourist Office, the hotel concierge, the Disabled
Services office, the museum canal tours company, the VVV (the Netherlands Board
of Tourism Office), and three canal boat
ticket venders (actually in person at the docks).
The final discovery after all that research, however, was that there was one canal ride company that could transport a wheelchair onto the
boat. It, however, was away being painted that weekend!
Since I never got a canal boat ride, I am unable from personal
experience to say that absolutely a power wheelchair can be put on board via a
lift or ramp; all the information I did get leads me to believe that it is
possible. Some of the other canal
ride companies would have been willing to physically lift me onto the boat and
into a seat, leaving the wheelchair on the dock while I took the one-hour ride;
if I had had a bike lock with me and if it hadn’t been freezing cold, I might
have tried that option. As it is,
my first canal ride will be one of the things I have to look forward to during
my second trip to Amsterdam. (The
moral of this story is: If you want
to take a canal ride, be sure to pack a bike lock.)
While trekking about Amsterdam, I observed many things that could be useful pieces of information, depending on your situation. So, I'll just list some of those things here as notations of interest:
--Many cafes and stores were inaccessible due to stairs, though some had only 1 to 3 inch lips; some had narrow doors, but there were usually two of them, and the people were very welcoming and would move things, etc. to assist.
--There were many revolving doors, but many of them were actually big enough for a wheelchair!
--Central Station had a bicycle rental place in the basement; they have an air pump and were willing to pump my tires when I got a flat.
--The Taxi service for disabled people didn't answer it's phone on weekends and had no message machine.
--Though it was easy to walk from city central to many places, it was also very easy to get lost because of the street layouts; be sure to get a good map.
--There seemed to be sulfur in the water and the water was hard; it dried my skin extremely.
--Attitudes were either very helpful and friendly, or very disinterested; even children didn't stare at me.
--Language differences were fun to sort out; here's a head start: non-dairy margarine is called "diet butter," the elevator is a "lift," everyone has a "colleague" who will help you, carbonated water is "with gas," and while the toilet is a "loo," a "restroom" is a bedroom.
--I did not see a single wheelchair accessible pay phone anywhere.
--The toilets have very little water in the bowl and the seats are smaller than those in the U.S.
--Hotels with central heating stay chilly.
--Smoking and pets are allowed in cafes; however, less people seemed to wear perfume.
--The Van Gogh museum is wheelchair accessible, though getting into it was via an outside lift that was treacherous. All wheelchair users get to take one person in for free because they are considered a "wheelchair pusher" (even if the wheelchair being used is a power driven chair!). Since we had to go through a different route than the general public, checking and retrieving the camera bag had to become an ordeal, and the museum attendants weren't too happy about that -- they acted like we were a nuisance. There are elevators to all the floors, but they are very crowded and one needs assistance with them.
I already mentioned that my wheelchair was seriously damaged on the return trip. What I didn't mention was that this was the end of a nightmare ordeal that I won't describe in great detail, but I will give you the abbreviated version: 28 hours waiting at the airport because one after another flight got cancelled; staying overnight at the airport hotel ("The Terminal Hotel") while something was wrong with the air-conditioning and it was freezing; at midnight drilling started above our hotel room because they were remodeling and chose the time of less traffic to do the work; the hot water bottle they scrounged up for me to use (to warm up) leaked; all food places closed 5 minutes after our flight got canceled for the night; and my wheelchair finally ran out of juice. The KLM folks did their best, including coming up with an antique battery charger (military looking) to try to get some juice into my chair.
Should you ever find yourself in an emergency or medical situation at Schipol Airport, bypass the airport resources and go directly to KLM. The airport had a First Aid area (my back was hurting after several hours and I needed to lay down), but they were very unhelpful and capitalistic; they charged 20 gilder (about $14 at the rate then) to rest for one hour in a bed. The KLM First Aid people were much kinder, but not used to disabled people and limited on what they had--they were the ones who came up with the antique hot water bottle and battery charger. They, however, only had one bed and it wasn't available. Eventually they helped us to get the Hotel room for free. The KLM First Aid area has the best wheelchair accessible toilet in the whole airport, though others are good too.
I had collected lots of information about the “Venice of Holland”
over the years, the most common remark being that it was the most beautiful city
in the world. Since this was my
first trip outside the United States (except for a few hours in Tijuana), I
don’t have enough experience with the world’s cities to say whether it is
the most beautiful, but I’m confident that it would be in the running. The air is clear and fresh (though windy and cold in March), the buildings are charming, and
the general atmosphere everywhere is lively and friendly.
My senses were thrilled by new experiences such as wafts of unusual foods as we walked down the narrow streets, and the tinkle of bells on the bicycles buzzing through pedestrians. But most of all, I enjoyed the colors. Of course, there were flowers everywhere, but those weren’t the colors I enjoyed the most. The clothing, especially children’s clothing, used different tones and patterns than those commonly used in the United States. They were primary colors, but rich and soft. The buses were painted in the same tones, with large graffiti that made them resemble delightful cartoon vehicles. Watching from our penthouse, I was filled with a child-like spirit of adventure as I observed the contrast between the modern, colorful buses driving down red brick streets and passing old gray buildings and cathedrals. Another visual delight was the abundance of gorgeous looking desserts--I wasn't tempted to eat them, but devoured them with my eyes!
It was not as wheelchair friendly as I had hoped, but it was accessible
enough to do many things and to be able to
experience the spirit of Amsterdam. I
went with limited information; I am writing these notes to add to the data
available for wheelchair users considering a trip to Amsterdam so that anyone
following me can have a little more information to help them prepare.
I feel that it can be a good choice for a holiday for wheelchair users,
but they must be adventurous, flexible and prepared.
But, then, isn’t that always the case for us wheeling travelers!
Take everything with you that you will need -- in our four days there I
did not see one grocery store or drug store.
Unlike in America, where people want convenience provided every six
blocks, there was no abundance of 7-11s and the people there don’t seem to be
obsessed with “things.”
I learned several valuable travel lessons from my trip to Amsterdam.
For one, if you hear of a place that you know you must go to someday,
don’t wait 15 years to do it -- the world is changing so fast these days that
it’s not likely to be the same place 15 years later.
Go with an open mind and no expectations; everything you heard was from
other people’s perspectives based on their experiences and yours might be
completely different. As one
resident of Holland told me, “Do you think foreigners hear about the REAL
United States?” When deciding where to go, don’t get so starry eyed about the romantic that you ignore
the practical; I was so in love with the sociological factors of the city that I
had totally ignored the fact that the weather would be so cold that I would not
be able to go outside to enjoy it much.
Overall opinion? It was feast and famine. Or, another way to put it
was that the trip was like the little girl with
the curl in the middle of her forehead: When
it was good, it was very, very good; and when it was bad, it was horrid.
"Motoring Europe by Van and Power Chair; Part 3: Amsterdam and the Dutch Countryside" by Gene Gary Gruver; PN magazine; February, 1993.
Though not disability specific, lots of good information about
traveling to Holland can be found at this website (i.e. type of electricity):
http://www.visitholland.com/
A website I visited (but I don't know the date of the information) said that the US branch of Mobility International publishes a quarterly newsletter, Over the Rainbow ($15), and a booklet, "A World of Options For The '90s" ($16), that provide useful information about
travel and study. Mobility International, P.O. Box 10767, Eugene, OR 97440; phone:
541-343-1284.
This website has some good general travel tips, though not
disability specific: http://www.geocities.org/TheTropics/3430/tips.html